


An Attentive Man

by AuntieClimactic



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, References to Depression, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 21:00:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15849276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuntieClimactic/pseuds/AuntieClimactic
Summary: “That…” Jon tries in that breathlessly awkward way of his. “That was…”Tim raises an eyebrow. “Amazing? Life-changing? The best you’ve ever had?”“Filthy,” Jon finishes snidely. “What is on your shirt?”





	An Attentive Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [1001cranes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1001cranes/gifts).



> This was written with love for [1001cranes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1001cranes/pseuds/1001cranes). Without your podcast recs, I never would have discovered this beautiful nightmare. Thank you!

Their first time is rough.

Tim isn’t surprised. Jon’s always been a pushy little shit - especially when it comes to getting things _just so_.

However, he is surprised that it happens. Until Jon’s mouth presses hungrily against his, there’s wasn’t any evidence that _this_ was something Jon did.

Plus, they smell. Tim’s covered in God knows what from the circus fiasco. Stopping “the unknowing” or “the dance” or “whateverthefuck” involved a lot more bile and human flesh than Tim wanted in his life, and of course everything that could go wrong did. It didn’t help that trip back to Tim’s flat was spent dodging through allies and gutters in an attempt to avoid as much pedestrian contact as realistically possible.

But as soon Tim’s front door closed behind them, Jon grabs Tim by his shirt, and they’re on each other. Jon’s hands yanking at Tim’s hair, pulling his head down for a kiss that is wet, desperate, and needy.

Tim, never one to turn down an offer, reacts physically before his brain even has time to process who is doing what. His mouth opens against Jon’s, welcoming the sweep of tongue against his own. One hand pulls Jon flush against him while the other fumbles with the zipper of his jeans.

They don’t even end up getting their clothes off. Tim comes with Jon’s hand down his pants, stroking him steadily, just shy of too rough, through his orgasm. Afterward, Tim falls to his knees (hearing Jon’s breath catch above him), shoves Jon back against the wall, drags Jon’s trousers down to his knees, and takes a moment to admire Jon’s cock - thick and leaking at the head - before taking it into his mouth.

It barely takes a minute before Jon’s nails dig into Tim’s shoulder as he spills down his throat. Tim glances upwards, watching Jon’s eyes widen and chest shudder.

For a moment, there’s nothing but their loud breaths filling the room. Then, Jon exhales heavily - like a crushing weight has been lifted. He slides bonelessly down the wall, sinking to the floor to sit beside Tim.

“That…” Jon tries in that breathlessly awkward way of his. “That was…”

Tim raises an eyebrow. “Amazing? Life-changing? The best you’ve ever had?”

“Filthy,” Jon finishes snidely. “What is on your shirt?”

Looking down, Tim shrugs. “Skin juice. Clown blood. Who’s to say?”

Their second time is a few minutes after their shower - Jon pressing Tim down into wet sheets, breath escaping in pants as Tim arches up underneath him.

***

Jon leaves shortly after they’ve finished on the bed.

Tim stretches, rolls over, and falls asleep.

He wakes to the sound of his cell phone vibrating on the nightstand.

_Elias._

Setting his phone screen-side down on the nightstand, Tim stands and limps into the bathroom for another shower - leg muscles and cleanliness a casualty of several activities last night. He’s halfway through washing shampoo out of his hair when a vision of Elias sitting behind his desk chips away at his brain like tiny ice-picks.

_Tim. My office. Now, if you please._

Tim doubles over under the pain of it, clutching his head.

“I’m naked, you bloody pervert,” Tim hisses through his teeth.

_Your state of dress matters little to me. I can do this all day, if necessary. I would very much prefer not to. We **can** keep this professional._

Tim’s laugh bubbles out of him in a wave of bitterness and loathing.

**_Tim._ **

He grits his teeth, pressing his forehead against shower tile. “Well, since you asked sooo nicely.”

_Perfect. 3pm then. Oh, and come in the **front** entrance if you wouldn’t mind._

And with that, Elias is gone and Tim’s blinking soap out of his eyes. He briefly considers punching the wall or bursting into tears, but he decides it’s easier to just finish his shower.

A little past 3 o’clock, Tim swipes his security card at the front desk, shooting a surprised Rosie at reception a smile.

“Heya, Rosie. Long time no see.”

His attempt at jovial humor sounds pathetic at best. Even to his own ears.

Tim doesn’t bother knocking on Elias’ door. Just pushes it open, gesturing at himself.

“Ta-da, boss. Present and reporting for duty, as per your... Request.”

Elias glances up at him over a pile of paperwork, sharp green eyes flashing with an emotion that is quickly repressed. Tim blinks. He’s never seen Elias in any other state than cool and controlled. It almost seems… Had Tim caught him by surprise?

“Ah, Tim,” Elias says, folding his face back into a bland mask of pleasant professionalism. “So good of you to come by. Have a seat.”

He gestures at the chair across from his desk. Tim hesitates, but then plops himself down, sprawling out his long limbs - basically doing everything he can to radiate disrespect short of spitting in Elias’ face.

Elias staples his finger together, resting them underneath his chin. He stares. Tim grins back. After a long second, Elias purses his lips.

“I’m slightly disappointed -” Elias begins.

“I understand,” Tim interrupts, dripping insincerity. “I’ve been slacking. Sleeping in late. Working as little as possible. Stealing office supplies. Flirting with the staff. Definitely grounds for termination.”

“Tim,” Elias says, leaning very close. “Do you want to know how we terminate employees with unsatisfactory job performances? _Especially_ after they’ve received several written and verbal warnings?”

Ten minutes later, Tim emerges from Elias’ office, drenched in sweat and shaking. He barely makes it to the men’s room, nearly blowing over Martin.

“Tim!” Martin squeals. “Hi! Oh, it’s been ages! How you... oooh.”

Martin moans sympathetically as Tim dry-heaves into the toilet. “I’ll, uh, get you some… tea?”

He scampers off, leaving Tim to violently tremble in privacy.

Tim’s rinsing out his mouth in the tap when he hears the door open again. “Martin, I don’t need - Oh. It’s you.”

The corners of Jon’s mouth twitch upwards. Sometime between this morning and now, Jon’s found a change of clothes and combed his hair. He probably keeps a spare set in the archives. Practical, considering how much time he spends holed up down there. He looks relaxed.

“I thought it best to redirect Martin’s energy elsewhere,” Jon says diplomatically, eyeing Tim up and down. “I heard you had a meeting with Elias.”

Tim can’t suppress his shudder. “Glad to see the old office gossip chain is still holding strong.”

“Melanie had a similar meeting with Elias not too long ago,” Jon says slowly, choosing his words with care.

“Great,” Tim says, leaning over the sink. “Perfect.” How did he end up like this? Trembling in the bathroom with nowhere to run and no end in sight? Exhaustion sinks into his bones as some nameless dread squeezes at his chest. After everything, he thought maybe...

He doesn’t register Jon’s approach until he feels a hand on his elbow. Jon’s watching Tim’s face in the mirror, nervously chewing on his bottom lip. Despite everything, Tim finds his eyes drawn there, a hot fissure of want coursing through him - pushing the flood away.

“Come with me,” Jon says softly.

Old Tim would have leaned suggestively against the bathroom wall. Old Tim would have winked flirtatiously and said something along the lines of: “I thought I already did.”

This Tim swallows hard, nods, and follows Jon out into the hallways of the Institute.

***

It would’ve been easy to write that night off as a one-time event. There was adrenaline, near-death experiences, bloodlust, revenge, a light dash of bodily harm… every ingredient necessary for a quick and satisfying romp in the sack.

Tim was prepared - nay, eager - to let his night with Jon fade into the pleasant haze of memory.

But, somehow, Tim ends up in the tunnels underneath the archives, curled into a ball, sobbing into Jon’s lap. Jon mutters something above him, gentle and soothing, carding his fingers through Tim’s hair.

It’s hard, after that, to write Jon off as a one-time thing.

***

It’s... complicated.

After all, he still hasn’t forgotten Jon’s aggressive stalking post-Prentiss worm nightmare.

There are a lot of confusing emotions tied up in a jumble of guilt, anger, and helplessness. And that’s even without bringing Sasha and the daily life of the Institute into the picture.

So Tim focuses on what he knows best.

He’s always been an attentive man, and not just as a lover. He’s spent years knowing when to pull Martin away from a nervous collapse, how to approach a subject who can either verify or discredit a statement, and he remembers (he thinks he remembers) knowing when and how to entice Sasha away from her desk when she’d become fixated to the point of frustration.

Tim knows how to read people. He never told anyone about his brother because he knew exactly what would happen - exactly how people would react. He knows who’s flirting and who’s just being polite. He knows when to back off and when to push for more. He knows when to crack a joke, when to use his height, when to make himself look small, and when to let the silence linger.

And, while he’s never stopped observing, he did stop caring. Saw and then immediately dismissed if it wasn’t something he could use to start a fight.

Until now that is.

With Jon in his bed, Tim finds he cares very much.

At work, Jon’s nothing short of vociferous, but in private it’s a different story. Tim has to watch his reactions very carefully. The way Jon tenses when Tim nips at his jaw tells him to avoid the neck and throat. Jon freezes like a deer in headlights when he’s manhandled and forgets to breathe when Tim presses close against his back.

Tim’s not one to judge people’s likes and dislikes. Lord knows he has his own. Especially now. He just acknowledges the ticks and quarks and quietly makes accommodations like the British gentleman his mother raised him to be.

Well, somewhat of a gentleman, he reflects - two knuckles deep, angling his fingers just so and watching Jon _squirm_.

“Hm,” Tim hums, watching the red blush of Jon’s arousal spread over the olive tones of his skin. “I think I like you much better like this.”

“Tim,” Jon gasps out, trying for threatening.

“Yes?” Tim asks innocently, reaching out to trail a finger along the underside of Jon’s leaking erection, where it’s pressed, hot and heavy, against his stomach. Jon makes a keening sound deep in the back of his throat, hips arching off the bed.

Tim smiles, feeling his eyes crinkle at the corners.

He’s good at watching people. He enjoys that little click of understanding as the cues slot into place.

That’s probably what caught Elias’ attention in the first place.

***

After everything’s finally over, the Institute swallowed into the earth, Jon gets sick.

Really sick.

Tim and Martin feel as though they’re recovering from a horrific bout of food poisoning. Basira and Melanie describe it as more of a bad hangover, but Jon is unconscious for five days.

Tim sits in Jon’s hospital room, reading shitty tabloid news out loud until his throat hurts.

“He’d hate that,” Melanie says during one of her visits.

“Good,” Tim replies. “If anything’s going to wake him up, it’ll be spite.”

“It’s perfectly normal,” Peter Lucas assures them the one and only time he graces them with his presence - Martin and Tim standing like a shield in front of Jon’s bed. Daisy keeps her gun aimed squarely at Peter’s head. “No need to stand around and fuss.”

“Forgive us if we aren’t exactly overflowing with trust,” Martin spits out with more spine than Tim assumed him capable of.

After that, they take Jon’s room in shifts. Tim’s not romantic, brave, or dumb enough to think he can keep Jon safe on his own.

As such, Tim’s not there when Jon wakes up. He gets the news via text from Melanie.

_He’s awake. Better hurry before Martin smothers him to death._

Tim doesn’t run to the hospital. He finishes his breakfast, washes his plate, and catches a taxi like a normal human being.

That doesn’t keep his hands from shaking so hard he has to shove them in his pockets. Tim freezes in the doorway of Jon’s room, heart pounding in his chest.

Martin’s fussing, fidgeting with Jon’s pillows and blankets in between asking Jon if he can get him anything. Basira and Daisy are standing off to the side, watching in bemusement. Melanie’s sitting with one leg thrown over the arm of the chair, flipping through a magazine, projecting aggressive boredom with every fiber of her being.

“Martin. _Martin_ , I’m fine!” Jon snarls, weakly batting Martin’s hands away.

It’s so perfect, so right, that Tim has to lean against the doorframe and catch his breath, swallowing down the lump that’s formed in the middle of his throat.

Melanie spots him and rolls her eyes heavenward. “Jon, your boyfriend’s having a moment.”

Jon glances up, frowning. He looks at Tim, and his eyes go wide.

“Ah, Tim… erm. Hi,” Jon manages. He turns to Melanie and scowls. “Why are you here again?”

Melanie stands up and stretches, back popping. “I ask myself that question every day.”

“Same reason as the rest of us,” Tim says, recovering. He shoots Jon a wink, watching the blush form on his neck and spread downward. “Poor life-decisions and a stack of unpaid bills. How you been, Jonny-boy?”

“Don’t call me that,” Jon hisses in flustered outrage.

Tim straightens and walks towards the bed. He bends and kisses Jon on the forehead.

“Whatever you say, dear.”

Jon flushes, olive skin darkening all the way up into his curls. Martin squeaks. Daisy and Basira exchange knowing glances.

“Well, we’re off,” Melanie says, grabbing Martin by the arm and dragging him away. She looks over her shoulder. “Ladies? Lunch?”

They’re alone. Tim flops into Melanie’s vacated chair, reaching for her abandoned magazine.

“Was that absolutely necessary?” Jon asks.

Tim hums thoughtfully. “No, not necessary. Just needed.”

He ignores the silent, watchful way Jon’s regarding him. “Oooh, have you heard the latest royal scandal?”

“I think I had nightmares about this,” Jon mutters.

“Let’s get you all caught up,” Tim says cheerfully.

Jon groans in protest, but Tim spots the smile lurking around the corners of his mouth.

***

The thing is, Jon’s technically homeless.

“It’s me or Martin,” Tim says, shrugging. “Maybe Melanie if you asked reeeaal nice.”

“I have my own place,” Jon says. Tim can tell by Jon’s mulish expression that this is a sore subject for him. He kindly doesn’t bring up that Jon’s “own place” is some ex-girlfriend’s basement.

All he says is, “yes, but my place has blowjobs.”

Jon sputters. “Really, Tim? Must you be so -”

“Breathtakingly handsome?” Tim arches an eyebrow. “It’s a curse, I’m afraid.”

Jon averts his eyes, shoulders scrunched up around his ears. Tim sighs and pulls out the big guns.

“Look… I didn’t want to mention it, but Peter Lucas tried to pay you a little ‘get well’ visit.”

Jon rubs at his temples. He seems so young under the weight of all this. “Yes, I rather thought he might.”

“Martin and I,” Tim starts shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. “Well, we cashed in a favor. Our personal residences are… protected.”

“Protected,” Jon repeats. When he looks up, his eyes are dark and angry. “Protected by whom?”

It’s Tim’s turn to look away.

“Tell me you didn’t summon that _thing_.”

“We didn’t.”

“Tim!”

“We didn’t… It offered.”

“You moron. You bloody idiot!”

“Well, it’s not like we had a lot of options here, Jon! Yay, the Institute’s gone. We’re free. Huzzah.” Tim makes little jazz hands. “But, according to you and your little ghost pageboy, there are other entities out there, and - guess what- they’re pissed. So yeah, we decided to go trust the Helen-Michael Thing and hope for the fucking best because what other choice do we have?”

Jon’s turning pale. “You didn’t offer it anything in return, did you?”

Tim throws his hands up. “Yes, because we’re complete idiots without your fearless leadership. Spot on.”

He stalks out of the room.

The taxi ride back to Tim’s flat is tense. Jon’s wearing a spare set of Martin’s clothes, arms crossed over his chest, hunched in on himself. Tim stares out the window, jaw clenched as he nervously bounces his leg up and down.

By the time they arrive, they’re both simmering with repressed emotion. Who knows how long it would have gone on before bubbling over if Tim hadn’t caught Jon struggling up the stairs.

“Come here, you complete and total wanker,” Tim says, voice laced with affection. He stoops down and throws his arm around Jon, taking some of his weight.

“Do you ever think before opening your mouth?” Jon snaps, but he’s leaning into Tim’s side, and they climb the stairs together.

After Jon’s settled in bed, Tim takes in the sad slant of Jon’s mouth and stubborn tilt of his chin. He knows if he offers to take the couch, there’ll be another fight - both of them too pigheaded to ask for what they actually want.

So Tim says nothing. Just strips down, settles next to Jon on the bed, and tries to will himself to sleep.

He wakes up to Jon muttering frantically. Tim can’t make out every word, but he hears enough to know that it’s not a pleasant dream.

“Jon,” he whispers, stroking the side of his face. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

Jon’s brown eyes open, wet with tears. “I’m sorry,” he gasps out. “I’m so sorry.”

Tim cups Jon’s face in his hands, kissing him as softly as he knows how. Jon makes a broken sound in the back of his throat and kisses back, reaching for Tim in the dark.

***

_Before… back when the Institute was a weird dead end job born from his own personal trauma, Tim imagined sex and Jon plenty of times._

_Who can blame him? Jon has dark curls, long fingers, thick lashes, and a silky voice with a sharp tongue. Tim’s only human._

_But, when he’s considered Jon and sex together, Tim wasn’t usually a part of the question. He pictured Jon wanking one off in the shower, methodical and efficient in his movements._

Tim keeps his thrusts slow and steady He knows that Jon prefers to drag things out, stretching the moment of pleasure until the breaking point.

_When Tim imagined Jon with a woman well... he once tried to picture Jon touching a woman’s breast and almost snorted out loud in the middle of a meeting._

Jon’s got an unsurprisingly oral fixation. He likes to suck on Tim’s nipples and bite kisses into his thighs until Tim’s hard and wreathing with pleasure. He’ll stroke Tim loosely a few times before licking a wet line up his erection. Tim likes to watch, pressing his palm up to his mouth to muffle any sounds that might escape.

_Picturing Jon with a man was easier. Although not by much._

Jon likes to be on top, and Tim’s more than happy to facilitate it. There’s nothing quite like watching Jon sink down onto him, head thrown back and eyes half-lidded with pleasure. He grips Jon’s waist, holding himself still until he’s completely engulfed in tight heat. Jon settles flush against him, staring down with something akin to awe.

_Sometimes, after a long day of watching Jon snipe over Martin’s notes and Sasha’s filing system, Tim idly considered what it would take to get Jon to release all that anal-retentive, pent-up frustration._

_Most of the time, he came up blank_.

Tim loves these parts the best, lying loose-limbed and sated, breaths falling into sync as Jon rests his head on Tim’s chest. He’s found that he can stroke Jon’s back as long as he keeps his touch feather-light and even.

“What now?” Jon asks, voice rough from use.

“Jonathan Sims, are you asking me to go steady?”

Jon pinches his chest. “Don’t be obtuse.”

“You know I love it when you use big words.”

An exasperated sigh, but it’s affectionate. Tim runs his nails lightly against Jon’s scalp. Another sigh. Content.

“You’re the man with the supernatural plan,” Tim says after a while. “All I ask is that you let me know what you’re doing before you to it. Don’t go running off heroically into the night.”

Not without me, Tim doesn’t say. Not again.

“You’re sure?” Jon asks, voice too light. “You could probably walk away from all of this. If you wanted to.”

Tim considers. “Honestly? At this point, I can imagine my life any other way.”

Jon’s arms tighten around him momentarily, and Tim knows he’s been heard.


End file.
